Famous Daughter Returns
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Part 2 of 2: Roarke and Leslie are kept very busy between a current fantasy, a huge party and a rude guest. Follows 'Wanted: One Wife'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Part 2 at last! The characters of Toni Karlsen and Elin Kristel Granath appear in other writing projects of mine (some of Toni's story is posted on FictionPress as well)._

* * *

§ § § -- August 9, 1991 

When Prince Errico finally departed the main house, Leslie breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Fulfilling his fantasy should be easy now," she said.

"Leslie…" Roarke began.

She held up her hands. "Look, Mr. Roarke, after what we just went through getting me out of this mess, _anything_ would be easy."

Roarke had to laugh. "Perhaps so," he said, "from your point of view in particular. But as we have seen, the man's natural arrogance clearly comes with a modicum of stubbornness, and we can only hope he takes to heart my repeated suggestions that he introduce himself to as many young women as possible."

"At least we finally talked him into actually going out and doing it, instead of hanging around in here moaning and whining about it," remarked Leslie, rolling her eyes. "So, now that he's out of the way, what's on the agenda?"

"You will need to meet the evening charter," Roarke told her, "for the prince's three children will be on it, right on schedule. Except for that, there are only the routine duties for the afternoon. Of course, you did mention that Michiko should be coming to see us."

Leslie nodded. "I wonder what's on her mind that she needs to talk to us about it."

They found out around one o'clock, when Michiko let herself into the house, clad in a pale-green sundress and sandals. She was still petite; as long as Leslie had known her she had had waist-length hair, but now it had been cut back into a pixyish style that perfectly framed her delicate face. She and Leslie hugged each other again, and then Leslie urged her into a chair and took the one beside it. They chatted for a couple of minutes until Roarke returned via the French shutter doors.

"Ah, Michiko!" he said. "It appears that your newfound fame agrees with you."

"Mostly, yes," Michiko said, her face clouding for just a moment. "Mainly it's exhausting. I've never been so busy in my life. I'm a little surprised I was allowed to come home and see my family and friends. And now that I'm here, you'd be amazed how tempting it is to just stay. My career was actually less hectic when I was just singing in Broadway shows—and things were much more predictable."

"But now you can pick and choose your projects, can't you?" Leslie asked while Roarke settled into his chair behind the desk.

"That's what I'm told," Michiko said. "But I'm also being told I'd better think very seriously about doing a concert tour, which would keep me on the road the rest of this year and well into next year. I don't know if I want to travel quite that much. I'd go back to Broadway in a heartbeat if it weren't for—" She stopped short and blinked, as if surprised by what she had almost said.

"If it weren't for what?" Leslie prodded gently.

Michiko gave her a helpless look and then cast it at Roarke, who said, "Have you been able to speak with your family about whatever is troubling you?"

Michiko shook her head miserably. "I just couldn't bring myself to tell them. My parents are very traditional Japanese, Mr. Roarke. They supported my choice of career, but I know they had their misgivings. And if they ever found out…it would almost be scandalous. I just couldn't tell anyone, and it's been eating at me. So when my agent told me I had a few free days, I told him I was coming to Fantasy Island and there was no room for argument. You see, I thought that if there was anyone on earth I could tell, it would be you two."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, both perplexed; then Leslie turned to her friend and said, "We don't want to pry, Michiko, but I think you'll feel much better once you do talk about it. It must have been devastating to you if it's bothering you this much."

Michiko gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment, then nodded a little. "I think you're right, Leslie. Well, okay." She took a deep breath and sat up straight in her chair. "Have you ever heard of Russell St. Anthony?"

Both Roarke and Leslie had, and they looked at each other again, this time in surprise. "Yes, the Broadway actor," Roarke said.

"Incredibly talented," Leslie added. "If I recall correctly, he's won three Tony awards, and he's the closest thing Broadway can get to a guaranteed box-office draw."

Michiko nodded. "Exactly. He's been inordinately successful at his craft—and he has an ego the size of Mount Everest. He's very charming, the consummate host, and he can sweep a woman off her feet with the best of them."

Leslie coughed discreetly and shot Roarke a glance, unable to resist saying, "I know someone who could take some lessons from him." Roarke chuckled.

"Not so fast," Michiko said. "He puts up a wonderful front—but once a woman's been involved with him long enough, he turns into a dreadful rake. I think for him, the excitement lies in the chase and the eventual conquest. But he's so persuasive that the poor woman he's charming out of her socks inevitably falls for him like a dropped safe, and when he dumps her, she's never the same again. Rumor has it that no fewer than three of his former girlfriends committed suicide because he split up with them."

By now Leslie and Roarke had some idea where she was going with this, and Leslie leaned forward over the arm of her chair. "Don't tell me you got involved with him," she said, slightly alarmed. "How else could you know all this?"

"Unfortunately, I did," Michiko admitted, staring at her hands which were tightly clasped in her lap. "He went through his whole routine with me, and I was such a naïf, I fell for every line. I'd heard of him, naturally, but I knew nothing about him, and no one saw fit to warn me if they knew. Anything he asked for, I let him have, because I was so besotted. Then he got bored and dumped me, with almost no warning at all."

"You seem to be holding up rather well," Roarke said carefully.

"That," said Michiko, "is because once the initial pain subsided somewhat, I was very angry. Why should I let him affect me that much? I still can't think of him without that pain and anger—and a sense of shame, too." The last half-dozen words came out in a tiny whisper, and she hung her head.

"If anyone should be ashamed, it's St. Anthony," Leslie said indignantly. "He sounds like the worst sort of cad. Why should you be ashamed, Michiko?"

"I…he…" Michiko looked up, and they saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "This is why I couldn't tell my family. He was so convincing, so charming…I thought it would be forever, so I…let him sleep with me." She turned bright red and covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide from her hosts.

"Oh, Michiko," Leslie said softly, putting a consoling hand on her friend's arm. "Like I said, you're not the one who should be ashamed."

"From what you have told us," Roarke said, "you had every reason to believe that you and Mr. St. Anthony had a chance at a permanent relationship. It appears that he led you on, and you felt secure enough with him to allow such a thing to happen."

"My parents would never forgive me," Michiko cried, staring pleadingly at him. "Don't you see, Mr. Roarke? As I said, they're very traditional and very old-fashioned. A well-brought-up young Japanese woman would never let such a thing happen until she was well and truly married to the man. And you know how it is: the woman is always held responsible for any transgression. I simply can't tell Mother and Father. They would be so disappointed in me…they might even disown me."

"That doesn't sound like your parents at all," Leslie said, amazed.

"You never really got to know them that well," Michiko told her, shaking her head in abject misery. "That's the reason Toki rebelled so much growing up—he was fighting the strictures of our traditional Japanese upbringing. But in the end, even Toki didn't make the mistake I did. Besides, he's a male, so it'd be much less serious if he'd done it. Being a girl, I'll be seen to have committed the worst crime imaginable."

"That isn't right," Leslie said flatly. "No woman should ever be held responsible for something that wasn't her fault. Did St. Anthony propose to you?"

"No, not in so many words," Michiko said, brushing away a tear that had finally escaped. "But he talked about our future together on enough occasions that I began to feel he eventually would pop the question." She heaved a sigh and stared unseeingly out the window. "I'm sure the _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ is going to insist on an interview, but I just don't have the emotional strength right now to put up with probing questions from the media. What I'm asking, I guess, is that I be treated like just any ordinary islander who's home for a visit. I don't want the star treatment and I don't want any special or unusual attention. I'm just plain Michiko Tokita while I'm here."

"If you can," Roarke said, "tell me: how is it that no one knows you were involved with Russell St. Anthony in the first place?"

"Russell tends to keep his affairs private," Michiko said. "He loves publicity, don't get me wrong, and he's constantly seeking attention from wherever he can get it. But he never talks about whatever woman he happens to be seeing. It's not so much the fact of the affair that's a secret; it's only the identity of the woman." She frowned slightly. "He keeps that part of his life so private, actually, that it never came out about his numerous affairs till after the second jilted actress had taken her own life. Both she and the first one had left suicide notes, and after the second one, the press went crazy making up rumors. Russell sued a couple of tabloids, but he lost both suits and it infuriated him. The third actress he jilted was found dead not long after he dumped her, but it was never clear whether she committed suicide or what. The autopsy indicated death by overdose, but it was from a prescription drug that she'd been taking anyway, one known to be addictive if its administration isn't very carefully monitored. So the question of Russell's degree of involvement was never really resolved, and to this day it still hangs over his head."

"I'm surprised it doesn't affect his popularity as an actor," Leslie said.

Michiko raised a gracefully-winged eyebrow at her, a sardonic look on her features. "You shouldn't be. The world is a very morbid place. People come to his shows these days as much to see the guy who supposedly drove three actresses to their deaths as to see his performances. He refuses to discuss the women themselves, or his affairs with them, but he's overjoyed with the extra publicity. As long as it gets him the attention he craves, it makes no difference to him why people come to see him."

"Good grief," Leslie murmured, shaking her head.

Roarke regarded Michiko with some concern. "You've been scheduled to sing on Sunday at a formal gala. If you feel that you aren't able to do so, please advise me now, so that I can apprise the proper people." His expression softened and he smiled. "You should certainly feel no guilt or shame if you decide not to sing."

Michiko hunched her shoulders. "I'm actually not sure just yet, Mr. Roarke. Maybe when I've had a chance to rest a little and be treated as just another person, I can make a decision. But right now…"

Roarke nodded. "Quite understandable. As Leslie insisted, you have no reason to feel ashamed of what happened. You certainly aren't the first woman to be in such a situation, and you won't be the last. I know that's cold comfort at best, but it's very much the truth."

Michiko smiled faintly. "I'll try to keep that in mind, Mr. Roarke. That old saying really is true—misery loves company." Roarke and Leslie both laughed softly. "Incidentally, I just heard about this gala a few days ago, and I don't even know who's hosting it."

Leslie settled uneasily back in her chair, a strangely guilty look on her face. Roarke said smoothly, "The host is a guest of ours, and if you should decide not to sing at the gala, I will inform him accordingly." His voice warmed. "I assume you're staying with your parents while you're on the island."

Michiko grinned sheepishly. "To tell you the truth, I was relieved when I discovered I wouldn't be able to. They turned my old bedroom into a study for Father. So I took a room at Julie's bed-and-breakfast inn."

"Good for you," said Leslie, joining in Roarke's laughter. "You'll be glad you did. Julie can cook like almost nobody else, except for Mariki. So look…if your parents don't expect you to spend the rest of the day at their house, I think you really ought to just relax and roam around the island, visit the other girls, whatever you want."

"I was thinking the same thing," Michiko said. "Right now I just want some time to myself, without anyone bothering me for autographs or anything else. What's the most private place you recommend to guests who are looking for that?"

"You are probably best off at Julie's inn, in that case," Roarke observed. "She had a swimming pool installed not very long ago, as a matter of fact, and restricts it to her guests only, so that you won't find yourself confined to your room. I believe that your best chance of finding peace and privacy will be there."

"Sounds wonderful," Michiko said and stood up. "Thank you both so much for just listening to me, and not judging me. I knew I could count on you for that."

"That's why we're here," Leslie said. "Just come over and see us if you need anything. If you want company for supper, come over and eat with us; if not, then you'll have a truly terrific meal at Julie's. So you can't lose either way."

"I'll let you know," Michiko promised. "Thank you both again. See you later, Leslie." She left quietly, and Roarke and Leslie settled back into their chairs, looking at each other with faintly pensive expressions, but neither one speaking.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- August 9, 1991

Supper was about ten minutes from being served; Leslie and Roarke had already had word from Michiko that she would be joining them. Roarke was on the phone, making some last-minute arrangements for a fantasy whose "owner" would be arriving the next morning, and Leslie was idly paging through an electronics catalog that had come in the mail that day, wondering how much work a computer might save her and Roarke.

Someone knocked on the door and Roarke said into the phone, "One moment, please." He looked up and called, "Come in." Leslie winced a little when Prince Errico walked into the foyer, but nodded civilly and then returned her attention to the catalog.

"Am I interrupting anything?" the prince asked, sounding unusually subdued. Leslie looked up again, and Roarke smiled.

"No," he said. "I'll be only another moment. Please sit down, won't you?" Errico did so while Roarke quickly wound up his call and hung up; the prince cast a wistful glance in Leslie's direction, and she turned pink and buried her nose in the catalog one more time.

"What can we do for you, Your Highness?" Roarke inquired.

Errico sighed softly. "I have had fully a dozen dinner invitations," he admitted, "but I find none of them appealing. Perhaps my heart just isn't in the search any longer, Mr. Roarke. Are all women so blatant? At least three of them actually suggested I meet them in their hotel rooms. They hardly seemed gracious or poised in any way. Perhaps the quality of your guests has been declining recently." He directed a meaningful look at Roarke.

Leslie compressed her lips to keep back the retort that wanted to tumble out; Roarke smiled. "Perhaps you're trying too hard, Your Highness," he said. "What exactly did you do after you left here this morning?"

"I went to the swimming pool," Errico began, "as there always seem to be many young women there. I had thought to take a swim as well, of course, but I never really had a chance to do so. Suddenly women were everywhere, and I began to see quite a heap of hotel-room keys on my table."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, both certain he was leaving something out. "Spontaneous attraction?" Leslie asked skeptically.

"This doesn't appear to have happened before," Roarke said, subtly hinting.

Errico looked faintly sheepish. "Well, perhaps I forgot myself and extracted a few of my rainbow gems to play with," he mumbled.

The gems were instantly recognizable the world over, and both Roarke and Leslie could imagine the reactions of the women the prince claimed had flocked to him. "To 'play' with, Your Highness?" Roarke said with a faint, highly-amused smile. "Now I wonder why, exactly, you would have done such a thing?"

Errico glanced back and forth between his hosts, who simply watched him expectantly, and finally confessed, "Surely you can't blame me, Mr. Roarke. I'm in quite a hurry, with only a bit more than a day before my great engagement gala. I thought perhaps the gems would help me to attract more eligible women, but I see now that I made quite a large error. I merely brought out the greed in those women, did I not?"

"At the very least, yes," Roarke agreed, gentle laughter in his voice. "I realize that, as you stated, you are in a hurry; but you must understand that finding a suitable woman takes time. You simply don't have that luxury anymore. Has it occurred to you to reschedule your gala and give yourself more time to find someone?"

"Oh, my dear sir, I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Errico said mournfully. "There will be a great many celebrities at my ball, and they can't rearrange their busy schedules on such short notice—even for an Arcolosian prince, unfortunately. Before I left home, my butler, Giohanni, made that abundantly clear to me. What's more, these estimable luminaries come from all over North America and Europe, and I expect that some of them may well already be on their way here even as I speak."

"Undoubtedly," Roarke said, nodding. He thought for a moment, then smiled. "Well, for the moment, suppose you set the problem aside and have your dinner here with us. We have another guest eating here this evening as well, so perhaps you might get acquainted and have a chance to relax. After dinner, the charter will arrive with your children, and Leslie will be meeting the plane and escorting them to your bungalow."

"Wonderful," Errico said, slumping a bit in his chair and looking somewhat relieved. "I would certainly welcome a break. Who is your guest, anyone I know?"

"A friend of mine," Leslie said. "She should be here any minute—supper's almost ready. As a matter of fact, if you'd both excuse me, I'll go see about it." The men nodded, and she dropped the catalog into her chair and left the room.

"I do still have tomorrow to continue my search," Errico mused, thinking aloud. "Al-though I must admit, the thought itself is rather daunting, in light of my failure to win over your daughter." He looked up and focused on Roarke. "You amaze me, my good sir. I tried my hardest to take your cherished child from you, yet you are still willing to help me. And as for Leslie, I can't blame her if she loathes me now."

"Oh, surely not, Your Highness," Roarke said warmly. "You came here to have a fantasy fulfilled, and we will do our utmost to see that it is. It's as simple as that."

Errico cracked a smile at last. "You have my very deepest gratitude, Mr. Roarke. If ever I can play host to you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"My livelihood keeps me quite busy," Roarke said smilingly, "but I do appreciate the invitation. I have heard a great deal about Arcolos, and I must say that the idea appeals greatly. For the moment…"

As if on cue, the door opened and in came Michiko. "Hello, Mr. Roarke," she said. "Where's Leslie?"

"Hello, Michiko," Roarke said. "She is checking on dinner, which I believe should be ready any moment. We have another guest dining with us this evening. Mr. Errico Bartolomé, may I present Miss Michiko Tokita."

Errico immediately arose from his chair and slowly approached the foyer, recognition lighting his eyes. "Why, of course, Miss Tokita! You're very well-known in Europe, you know. My daughter Adriana must be your biggest fan. I am privileged to meet you."

Michiko stared up at him in surprise. "Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Bartolomé." She looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead squinted curiously at him, clearly finding him familiar-looking and trying to place the face.

"Is something wrong?" Roarke asked her.

"No…no, I'm sorry," said Michiko, flustered. "I was just thinking that Mr. Bartolomé looks like someone I know, or at least someone I've seen somewhere. I apologize, Mr. Bartolomé. I really didn't mean to stare like that."

Errico took her hand and kissed it. "Oh, that's quite all right, my dear lady. Don't trouble yourself with fear of offending me." He smiled with an unaccustomed air of self-deprecation. "I'm afraid I myself spent a large part of the past week offending Mr. Roarke's daughter, so perhaps it's only what I deserve."

"My goodness," said Michiko, almond eyes wide. "That must be quite a story." She blushed and looked at the floor. "Oh, dear, just listen to me. I'm not fit company tonight, I guess." She slanted an embarrassed glance at Roarke, who smiled.

"Natural curiosity, Michiko," he assured her with a chuckle. Just then Leslie came out from the hallway leading to the kitchen wing of the house and stopped in surprise when she saw Errico and Michiko standing there.

"I see you've already met," she remarked with a grin, and turned to Roarke. "Mariki's out on the veranda right now, so why don't we go on out."

"Good, Leslie, thank you," Roarke said. Together the foursome left the room and made their way down the long front porch of the main house, where Mariki was unloading covered dishes from her serving cart onto a table laid with four place settings. They all took seats; Roarke thanked Mariki, who nodded and departed with her cart, and they began to serve themselves.

Once they had begun eating, Errico eyed Roarke for a moment, glanced at Leslie and then studied Michiko, looking very thoughtful. "Miss Tokita," he said at last, "I've been thinking. My children are to arrive here tonight, and I thought perhaps you would consent to meet Adriana and autograph something for her."

Michiko stopped eating and stared at him, a dismayed glint in her eyes but her face mostly blank. "Well, I'd planned to spend a quiet evening in my own room," she said.

Errico cleared his throat and glanced again at Roarke and Leslie, who were watching in silence. "Of course, of course," he murmured and sighed softly. "Yes, then, by all means. I apologize profusely, Miss Tokita." He met Leslie's gaze, abruptly turning stop-sign red, then blinking at her with newly wide eyes. "Of _course_," he breathed, looking stunned.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Bartolomé?" Roarke inquired.

Errico shifted his attention. "No, Mr. Roarke…in fact, I may have just solved one. I believe I've begun to understand the reason I've had such trouble locating a suitable wife. I come on far too strong, do I not? Miss Tokita is undoubtedly here looking for a sanctuary from all her doting fans, a break from the constant pressures of being a celebrity, and here I am treating her like a star when she surely prefers to be treated like merely another human being. I simply wasn't thinking when I made the suggestion. Please, again, accept my humble apologies, Miss Tokita. Since you are singing at my gala on Sunday, that will be time enough for my daughter to meet you. Please, forget I even spoke."

"Gracious," said Michiko, who had been staring at him in amazement. "That's really not necessary, Mr. Bartolomé. Your…gala?"

Errico groaned aloud and flipped his hands palms-up into the air, casting his gaze at the ceiling fan over their heads. "Ah, _Diento mie_, I have done it yet again!" he cried. Roarke visibly squelched a smile, but Leslie and Michiko both began to laugh.

"So you're the guest who's having a formal gala on Sunday. Mr. Roarke mentioned it to me earlier today, and I wasn't quite sure I wanted to make the appearance." Michiko ex-changed a merry glance with Leslie. "But maybe I will after all."

"Miss Tokita, if you choose not to sing," Errico said firmly, "then you need not feel the least bit obligated to do so. I shall understand perfectly, and you shall have your peace and remain completely undisturbed. I don't mean to trouble you so. I'll not bother you again, I promise." He turned to Roarke. "Perhaps I should have eaten at the hotel after all."

"No, no," Michiko broke in before Roarke could respond. "Please don't worry about it, Mr. Bartolomé. This might sound incredibly nosy, but you obviously have quite a story to tell, and you've been dropping the most fascinating hints throughout this entire dinner conversation. I don't know why you're having this, uh, gala, or why you need me to sing at it; and I seem to remember you saying something about finding a 'suitable wife'. I really hate to pry, but unfortunately, you've got me so curious that I'm going to practice the world's worst manners and ask you if you'd mind telling me about it."

Errico gazed at her, eyes wide, an expression of new appreciation on his features. "Miss Tokita, I should be more than happy to tell you my story, if Mr. Roarke and Leslie don't mind sitting through it…but please, let me tell you the full truth before I begin. I am not merely 'Mr. Bartolomé'. That _is_ my surname, yes, but I rarely use it. Before I came here, I asked Mr. Roarke to keep my true identity a secret from everyone, even poor Leslie there. The fact is, I am Prince Errico V of Arcolos, and as you surely are aware if you bother to follow royal exploits, I have been widowed for the past eight years."

"Oh my goodness, yes," Michiko said, looking stunned. "Your Highness, it's _my_ privilege to meet _you_, rather than the other way around. And I'd be more than happy to meet your little girl and sign an autograph for her."

Errico beamed. "Miss Tokita, you have my eternal gratitude. You will make my child so very happy. Please, I beg you, call me Errico. Don't even bother with the honorifics—no 'Mr. Bartolomé' and no 'Your Highness' or 'Prince'. I still wish to keep my identity under wraps, until the gala at least."

"All right, but only if you'll call me Michiko," she said with a shy smile.

"Done, my lady, done. Excuse me…Michiko." Errico grinned. "Now, my dear Michiko, here is the full story." And he dominated the rest of the entire dinner conversation by regaling her with the story of his search for a wife and what had happened as a result. More than once Leslie rolled her eyes, and Roarke found himself laughing at her reactions more often than not. For her part, Michiko was breathless with laughter by the time Errico finally finished talking.

"So that, my dear, is the reason I am having a formal gala on Sunday," Errico wound up his narrative. "Although unfortunately, the party may turn out to be entirely without purpose, since I still haven't found a lady to wife. But there are too many luminaries invited to cancel or postpone it now."

"Really?" said Michiko, eyes still alight. "Who's supposed to come?"

"Edmond Dumont and Susan Lohmann, the famous composer and his singer wife," Errico said, ticking off on his fingers as he spoke. "The lovely singer Elin Kristel Granath from Sweden is to be there. The well-known American film actress Toni Karlsen is to come. The distinguished Broadway actor Russell St. Anthony…" He cut himself off when Michiko gasped loudly and turned very pale indeed.

"Michiko, are you all right?" Leslie asked anxiously.

"I…" Michiko swallowed and raked her hand through her hair. "I can't even come home without seeing that man…"

Errico leaned forward, genuinely concerned. "Michiko, my dear, I can see I've upset you greatly. Has that man hurt you badly? If so, just tell me. I'll not let him anywhere near you all evening, believe me. I won't allow him to cause you such distress ever again."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other in amazement; Roarke's dark eyes began to sparkle suddenly, and he smiled ever so faintly. Leslie looked back at Errico and Michiko for a moment, then grinned to herself and crossed her fingers under the table.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- August 10, 1991

With Roarke and Leslie both busy attending to the weekend's fantasies, Michiko felt at loose ends. She had eaten breakfast at Julie's inn, then gone to visit Maureen Tomai, not quite able to face her own family just yet. That even included Toki and Myeko at the moment; she was afraid they'd ask too many questions, even though she knew they'd mean well. On her way back to the MacNabb bed-and-breakfast, she found her thoughts turning to tomorrow's gala and had to smile to herself, thinking of the incredible secret she shared with Leslie and Roarke. That Prince Errico had seen fit to tell her who he was astounded her; he was, as Leslie had observed to her the previous evening on the way to the plane dock to meet Errico's children, anything but subtle. But he did mean well, and he had more grace and charm than she might have expected from royalty, who she had always heard tended toward arrogance and delusions of superiority.

His children had been a surprise; all three of them were well-behaved and very sweet, particularly the girl, Adriana. As her father had indicated, she was indeed a great fan of Michiko and had all but fallen at her feet with adoration. It had been flattering and funny and a little bit embarrassing all at the same time, and she had taken care to cultivate the seeds of a friendship with the girl in an attempt to put her at ease. It hadn't helped that her two brothers had teased her mercilessly, but by the time she was too worn out to think of anything but getting some sleep, she had made solid converts out of them too. Errico had escorted her back to the B&B and bid her a heartfelt good night, kissing her hand again and even bowing to her before strolling away.

She halted in the Main House Lane when she heard a car engine behind her and turned to see who was coming, moving quickly aside as she saw one of the candy-striped station wagons rounding the corner from the Ring Road, bearing several occupants. She could see Roarke and Leslie in the front seat, the former at the wheel; behind them sat two figures she couldn't make out. Roarke stopped the car, and Leslie called, "Hi, Michiko!"

"Hi, Leslie," Michiko said and glanced into the back seat, instantly recognizing the couple. "Oh my goodness…Mr. Dumont and Ms. Lohmann!"

Edmond Dumont and Susan Lohmann—who themselves had met on Fantasy Island more than ten years before and fallen in love—recognized her in turn and both beamed at her. "Michiko Tokita, what a surprise!" Susan Lohmann exclaimed. "Are you here for the gala as well?"

"I'm supposed to sing," Michiko admitted. "But actually, I was born and raised on Fantasy Island, so I'm really visiting home for a little vacation."

"Lucky you," Edmond Dumont said and chuckled. He himself had been a resident of Fantasy Island for quite a few years before meeting his wife; he'd had a highly secluded mansion in the jungle some distance removed from the Enclave, the small neighborhood of mansions on south-central Fantasy Island. "Well, don't let us keep you. Mr. Roarke, you really didn't need to set aside a bungalow just for us."

"We're used to hotel rooms," his wife agreed.

"Nothing but the best for our guests," Leslie said with a smile. "If it helps, you're not getting special treatment—our other celebrity guests will be in bungalows too."

"Oh, well, in that case…" Dumont began, and they all laughed. Michiko waved at them as Roarke accelerated and sent the car ahead, saying something to the Dumonts that was lost to distance as they rolled away. Suddenly she thought, _Oh no…I hope Mr. Roarke and Leslie don't have to meet whatever charter Russell's coming in on. I guess Mr. Roarke'll have no trouble handling him, but Leslie doesn't really know how awful he can be. He'll give them no end of hell unless I can warn them somehow. _ She lengthened her stride and got to the main house just in time to see Roarke, Leslie and the Dumonts crossing the veranda on their way inside.

Roarke let the Dumonts precede him inside but turned in time to see her climbing the steps onto the porch. "Yes, Michiko, is there something I can do for you?"

"Well…" Michiko hesitated. "I see you're busy with Mr. Dumont and Ms. Lohmann, but if you don't mind my waiting out here, I need to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Oh, there's no need for you to wait," Roarke said. "Leslie, why don't you stay and speak with her. Once the Dumonts are settled, however, you'll need to check on the Gray fantasy in the usual manner."

"Understood, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said, and he followed the Dumonts into the house and closed the door while she turned to her friend. "What's the matter?"

"Russell St. Anthony," Michiko said urgently. "I thought I'd better warn you about him. He's the most demanding man on earth—wants everything a certain way. And he can be a total horror if he doesn't get it, right down to the last excruciating detail."

"Oh, we know," Leslie said ruefully. "He's already arrived, and he's bought out the entire top floor of the hotel. Now I see why he's been referred to as the Beast of Broadway." She smiled. "It's all right, Michiko. I don't think you have to worry much about running into him. When Mr. Roarke suggested he see some of the attractions around the island, he stuck his nose in the air and said he had no use for guest amenities that he knew had been frequented by hoi polloi, and that he planned to stay in his room all day."

"Ooooh," Michiko winced. "That's Russell all right. Well, even so, I think I'd better go back to Julie's B&B and stay hidden away there. I just don't want to chance it."

"That's up to you," Leslie said, "but don't you think your family would miss you?"

"I've already had three phone calls from my parents as it is," Michiko said. "I'm supposed to have dinner at their house, and Toki and Myeko will be there, along with Saburo and Kalani." Saburo was Michiko's oldest brother; Kalani, his wife, was a pretty native islander who worked in the main-house kitchen under Mariki's supervision. "And of course, Reiko will be there too," she added, referring to her youngest sibling, "since she still lives with Mother and Father. They're all going to ask me questions galore."

"There's no reason for you to tell them anything you don't feel comfortable telling them," Leslie said. "Even if they ask, don't say anything. Leave out the stuff you don't want to talk about. Besides, I'm sure they're only wondering what your career must be like."

"I hope you're right," Michiko said doubtfully. "Well, at least you know about Russell now. I'll be going, so you can get back to work." She returned Leslie's smile and started back down the porch, only to be waylaid by Prince Errico and all three children, who lit up when they saw her. Leslie grinned to herself and slipped unnoticed into the house.

"What a lovely surprise to see you, Michiko!" Errico exclaimed, as delighted as his children. "We were just on our way to the pool. Won't you join us?"

"Yes, please!" cried young Princess Adriana, ten years old and a sweet-faced little girl with a headful of glossy black hair in ringlets. "It'll be so much more fun with you!"

Michiko laughed. "What an invitation! All right, if you'll give me a chance to get to my room at the B&B and change my clothes, I'll be happy to come with you."

Errico and the children, who also included eleven-year-old Prince Paolono and Prince Marcolo, eight, insisted on accompanying her there. However, when they arrived, Julie's pool turned out to be deserted, as if waiting for someone to take advantage, and Michiko realized she was still in no mood to go out in public. "Look, why don't we swim here instead? I'm one of Julie's guests, so she probably won't mind at all. I'll let her know."

"Let me know what?" Julie MacNabb, thirty-one years old and still single, stepped out the back door into the fenced-in pool area. "Hi, Michiko, looks like you have some friends. Welcome, everyone. If you'd like some refreshment, I can bring it out and leave it on the table here."

"A splendid idea," Errico said, bowing slightly to her and kissing her hand. "I am Errico Bartolomé, dear lady, and we thank you for your kind hospitality."

Julie grinned. "Not at all. I'm Julie MacNabb, nice to meet you. Be right back." Michiko followed her inside on her way to her room to change clothes.

A few minutes later she emerged from the house to find the children splashing happily in the pool and Errico stretched out on a chaise, sipping from a tall glass of tea and watching his offspring. He brightened when he saw Michiko. "Ah, here you are. Please, come and sit here beside me." He indicated the empty chaise next to his.

Michiko settled down and watched the children herself for a few minutes, letting the summer sun warm her skin and slowly relaxing. After a little while Errico remarked, "I've seen very little of our hosts today, have you?"

"Same here," Michiko said. "Between their usual fantasies for the weekend and all the famous folks coming in for the gala tomorrow, they're practically running a marathon. But they thrive on it, both of them. Mr. Roarke's been in this business for who knows how many years, and Leslie's been involved with it to some extent almost ever since she first set foot on the island. She loves it."

"I don't quite understand," Errico said, sounding a bit perplexed. "Was she not born here as you were?"

"No, Leslie's Mr. Roarke's adopted daughter," Michiko said. "Her family was killed in a house fire when she was fourteen, and a few months later she came here, per her mother's will, to be raised by Mr. Roarke, because she had no living relatives left. She was kind of a second assistant to him before she met her husband and left the island with him for a few years, and by then Mr. Roarke's longtime assistant had married and moved away as well. After that he kept going through assistants like mad, so when Leslie came back last year after her husband died, he took her on. It's the perfect arrangement for both of them. She's lost nearly everyone she ever loved in some way, and Mr. Roarke seems to be about the only constant in her life. I can't blame her for not wanting to pull up stakes."

"I see," Errico murmured. "And I've been told she's still in mourning for her husband."

"She loved him deeply," Michiko remembered. "Their wedding was beautiful, and you could see in their eyes how much in love they were. When she first came back, one of our friends told me, she was underweight and grieving heavily. She's lost too much in her life, and I have a funny feeling that she doesn't want to risk even more loss."

"And there I was, trying to pack her away in my luggage and carry her off to Arcolos by sheer force," Errico said ruefully, sighing. "Now I understand why she was so vocal in her refusals. In any case, Mr. Roarke himself rendered everything academic. I couldn't have married her even if she had agreed."

"Really? Why not?" Michiko asked.

Errico explained the Arcolosian law that had prevented him from pressing his pursuit of Leslie. "So you see, here I am still searching, and running out of time all too quickly. My children do have a governess, of course, but they really need a mother. Adriana in particular feels quite lost at times. She is the only female in the family. I have two younger brothers who live elsewhere on the island; we live in the palace with my father, who is the current king. My own mother passed on when I was eighteen—Adriana is named for her—and my wife died giving birth to Marcolo. So the poor child is outnumbered badly, and I know she would very much welcome a stepmother in her life."

"I'm sorry about your mother and your wife," Michiko said sincerely. "Do Paolono and Adriana remember her at all?"

"No, they were both quite small when she died," Errico said. "They have had a number of different governesses through the years, but a governess can never be the same as a mother. I had so hoped to present them with the right candidate when they arrived."

Michiko smiled. "They're wonderful kids. Any woman should be thrilled to get them for stepchildren. It amazes me you're not out actively looking."

Errico sighed. "Mr. Roarke continually tells me not to give up faith, but I don't see how he can grant my fantasy in the few hours remaining." He glanced at her and then looked again, smiling a little, his eyes thoughtful. "I realize you don't wish to make your presence known, and I believe I can accommodate that, since I understand perfectly. I would be honored if you would consent to dinner with me at my bungalow this evening, Michiko. The children would be overjoyed, and you would make me a most happy man."

Michiko brightened in surprise and started to accept; then she blinked and let out a groan. "Oh no, I can't. My family insists that I eat with them. I wish I could get out of it, because I know they're going to give me the third degree. And they don't know about my involvement with Russell St. Anthony."

"The Beast of Broadway," Errico quoted and grinned. "I'm aware of his eccentricities, yes. At one time he was in a stage show that held four performances in Santi Arcuros, and I attended its opening night there. No hotel would accept him as a guest due to his outrageous demands—so believe it or not, I was forced to put him up in the palace. To this day, the servants shudder if they ever hear his name mentioned. He treated everyone simply abominably, and it was a great relief to see the last of him." He eyed her curiously. "Forgive me, my dear, if I intrude…but I can't understand for the life of me what you saw in him."

"Then you haven't seen him around women," Michiko said and told him about her relationship with St. Anthony. "As long as he's pursuing a woman, he comes across to her as the eighth world wonder, and invariably they fall hard and fast. I was no exception, I'm sorry to admit. His true colors come out only after he's made the conquest and gotten tired of having her around, and then it's no less than a Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation."

"I understand," Errico said. "Hmm. So dinner is out of the question, apparently. Then in that case, perhaps you'd allow me to fetch you at your parents' home, and we might go out dancing. The schedule of events posted in my bungalow states that the supper club is having dancing this evening, and I should feel privileged to have you as my dance partner. Will you come with me for that, if not for dinner?"

Michiko smiled slowly; something inside her warmed. "I'd be very happy to. It'll give me something to look forward to after the grilling I'm likely to get at supper."

Errico reached out and took her hand in his. "Then I hope to be able to erase any sad feelings you may find yourself burdened with as a result, my dear Michiko."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- August 10, 1991

Roarke and Leslie dropped in for only a few minutes at the Saturday-night luau, just so they could check on a few guests and be certain things were running smoothly. They made a quick detour at the supper club, where dinner was still in progress but dancing would commence soon, and then went on to the hotel. It was here that they walked in on a near-mutiny: quite a few hotel staff had gathered in the lobby and were talking in low, ominous tones. They all straightened and faced Roarke when he and Leslie came in.

"What's the meaning of this?" Roarke inquired crisply.

One of the front-desk clerks leaned over the check-in desk and put in, "I've been trying to get Mr. Omamara out here, Mr. Roarke, but someone's got him tied up on the phone and won't let him go."

At this point Jean-Claude barreled through the kitchen doors and stomped across the dining room to join them; his already touchy nature had clearly been inflamed to the point of inferno. "I cannot work for zees man anymore!" he exploded. _"M'sieur_ Roarke, 'e ees totally unreasonable. 'E ask for everything I do not 'ave and zen abuse me when I say eet ees not avellable. I ask you, 'oo allowed zat man on ze island?"

"Of whom are you speaking?" Roarke inquired, though he and Leslie both had a feeling they already knew.

"Zat 'orrible actor," Jean-Claude barked. "Ah, _zut alors,_ I would geev up my retirement to 'ave just one sairving of fugu for 'eem…" Leslie clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to swallow a giggle, but the action caught the attention of the staff and they grinned in sympathetic response. Roarke sighed with some exasperation.

"Jean-Claude, you already know my position on that," he said. "I suggest that all of you return to your duties immediately. I'll speak with Mr. Omamara and we will try to handle Mr. St. Anthony, but his behavior does not excuse you from performing your jobs."

There were murmurs of assent and the gathered staff scattered. The desk clerk opened the employee-access door for Roarke and Leslie, who promptly made their way back to Jimmy Omamara's office. He was still on the phone, forehead resting in one hand, his black hair standing out in tufts as if he'd been running his hands through it. He looked up when the door opened and seemed overtly relieved to see Roarke and Leslie there.

"Excuse me," he said into the phone, "but someone very important is here…" He halted abruptly and rolled his eyes. "As a matter of fact, sir, I think I can accommodate you there. We'll be right up." He hung up the phone and blew out his breath. "Mr. Roarke, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"Russell St. Anthony, I presume," Leslie said dryly.

"Hasn't he been called the Beast of Broadway?" Jimmy demanded, standing up and raking his hand through his hair yet again. "He's been living up to that name all day, ever since the moment he got here with his agent and his personal staff and his publicist and his freaking hairdresser…and about twenty suitcases, I might add. Poor Johnny was lucky he got a tip—it came from the agent, rather than St. Anthony." He came out from behind his desk and added, "I just got off the phone with him, and he's demanding to see you."

"Indeed," said Roarke. "What is his complaint?"

"Everything," Jimmy snorted. "You name it and it isn't good enough for him. Just what's he doing on the island anyway, Mr. Roarke?"

"He is here at the invitation of one of our guests who is holding a formal gala tomorrow," Roarke explained. "I'm sorry that Mr. St. Anthony has been putting you and the staff through such trials, Jimmy, but he refused to take a bungalow."

"The staff has a calendar on the wall in housekeeping," Jimmy informed them as they headed for the elevators. "They're literally counting down the hours till St. Anthony checks out and heads back to New York." Roarke smiled ruefully and Leslie laughed outright.

On the top floor they noted harried members of St. Anthony's entourage scuttling repeatedly back and forth across the hallway, while several voices in the near distance competed for dominance. They followed the sounds and stopped in front of what was normally the honeymoon suite, which had been taken over by St. Anthony. Jimmy reached out and knocked sharply on the open door to get their attention.

"Oh, dammit, what is it now?" snapped an imperious voice, and the classically-hand-some blond man pacing the floor near the window stopped long enough to look. "Well, it's about time. Roarke, I want out of here. This simply isn't good enough."

"We have no other accommodations, Mr. St. Anthony," Roarke replied courteously, "and you requested to be housed in the hotel."

"Well, it's not good enough," Russell St. Anthony reiterated. "Someone around here said there's a cluster of mansions on this island. I want one of those."

"None are available at this time," Roarke said.

An exhausted-looking man in his mid-forties, sporting a sizable paunch and a rapidly-receding hairline, interjected, "Russell, I told you that's the answer we'd get. You're gonna make yourself sick again if you keep this up. Come on, it's been a long day, so why don't you get some sleep?"

"I have lines to learn!" St. Anthony shouted. "I can't just drop everything and sleep now. Besides, the bed is lumpy, and you know I told you to bring my personal featherbed. I really don't know why I keep you on, Pete."

"Because nobody else will come within three miles of you, never mind work for you," Pete said wearily. "Come on, let me handle this, all right?"

St. Anthony threw his hands in the air. "You'll just botch it up, Pete. Everybody out. Roarke, I have some bones to pick with you…and who's the woman?" He stared at Leslie with a particular contempt, which she returned in equal measure.

"She is my daughter and assistant, Leslie," Roarke informed him briskly, while Leslie and Jimmy watched St. Anthony's agent and the others in the room file out through a connecting door to the next room. "What is the problem, Mr. St. Anthony? We have done all we can to make you comfortable."

"Oh yeah," barked St. Anthony and pointed at Jimmy. "Go back to your office, pal. Don't need you here anymore now that you've finally managed to do something I asked." Jimmy promptly swung around and left the room without further ado, and St. Anthony focused on Roarke. "The only thing that'll make me comfortable is getting a mansion. I don't care if you have to throw someone out—do it, because I want something separate and removed from all these damned gawkers around here. All I get is idiots staring at me and asking for autographs and fawning all over me about my shows. I never really wanted to waste my time coming to this stupid party for this minor prince from his hole-in-the-wall country in the first place; but Pete, the fool, pointed out that it was probably the only way I'd be able to get here without getting slapped onto the tail end of a long waiting list. As if I should even be _on_ a waiting list."

Roarke frowned slightly. "What waiting list would that be, Mr. St. Anthony?"

"To be granted a fantasy," St. Anthony said with an exaggerated eyeroll, as if Roarke should have been able to read his mind. Leslie's eyes went huge with disbelief, and he caught it and sneered, "Yes, even Russell St. Anthony has a fantasy."

Roarke stood silently and studied the temperamental actor with the sort of penetrating stare he rarely found occasion to use, without saying anything for some time. It was plain enough to Leslie that he was taking the man's measure, assessing what he saw and weighing St. Anthony's demand. St. Anthony stared back, as if it were a contest; but even he couldn't seem to withstand Roarke's minute scrutiny and eventually began visibly shifting his weight. An impatient look crossed his face.

"Well?" he demanded.

Roarke said nothing for several more minutes, simply continued to watch him. Finally he said slowly, "I must confess to having a number of misgivings, but very well, Mr. St. Anthony. However, I have other duties this evening; so I won't be able to discuss your request until tomorrow at 11 A.M."

"Is that when my fantasy starts?" St. Anthony asked.

"You have not told me your fantasy," Roarke explained calmly but coolly, "so that would be quite difficult. Furthermore, I have not yet agreed to grant your fantasy; this is to be a discussion only. And before I make my decision, I must insist that you cease harassing the staff, and accept the fact that there are no other lodgings for you at the moment. For tonight, you must remain here."

"Oh, fine," muttered St. Anthony grudgingly. "But I _will_ get that mansion, Roarke, one way or another. I know you've got properties standing vacant all over this island, and I mean to have one of them. Meantime, I guess I'll have to settle for this." He waved a disparaging hand at his surroundings. "See you tomorrow morning, then."

"At eleven precisely," Roarke said flatly, in a tone that Leslie had learned many years before would tolerate no argument whatsoever. "If you do not appear at the main house by exactly that hour, I shall consider the matter closed and assume that you changed your mind about your fantasy. My time, too, is valuable, Mr. St. Anthony. Will you excuse us? Leslie." So saying, he turned and left the room without waiting for any acknowledgment from St. Anthony, with Leslie right behind him. She was more than happy to pull the door shut.

"Wow, Mr. Roarke," she said in the elevator, "I think you actually subdued him."

"He's a very difficult man, Leslie," Roarke said, dark eyes thoughtful. "And he has a serious problem as well. Perhaps we will know more tomorrow."

‡ ‡ ‡

Michiko felt lighthearted for the first time since arriving home; dancing with Prince Errico had been more than enough to make up for the barrage of questions, many of which she herself would have considered too nosy to ask, that her family had put her through during supper at the Tokita homestead. Fortunately, she had been able to keep secret her involvement with Russell St. Anthony; no one had asked much about her love life after she had half-lied and said she didn't have one. Since Russell, she hadn't.

But she was beginning to have an inkling that that might change. Errico was warm and charming; perhaps not too subtle, just as Leslie had said, but he always meant well. He had treated her as if she too were royalty that evening, and the dancing had been all she could have dreamed of. They hadn't said much, simply enjoyed the music and each other's company. Now they strolled along the side of the Ring Road together, on their way back to Julie's B&B, enjoying the moonlit tropical night and talking aimlessly about inconsequential things. Michiko smiled dreamily at nothing, wishing she could stop time, or at the very least, freeze this moment to relive when she needed it.

The nameless tropical bird that Leslie had once called the "night crier" sounded off somewhere in the distance, with its two-part rising call in triplicate, then two mournful calls followed by a final shuddering cry. Errico fell silent when they heard it, tilting his head to one side and listening curiously. "What kind of bird is that?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't think anyone's ever actually seen one," Michiko remarked, chuckling quietly. "They're strictly nocturnal. I grew up falling asleep to their voices outside the window. They really bring back memories for me."

"You must miss this island badly when you're performing," he said.

"Oh, I do," Michiko said, "but now that my career's finally really taking off, I can afford to come home and visit more often. When I retire I'll come back and buy a little house here somewhere. I don't need a mansion or anything like that."

"I see," murmured Errico. Something in his tone alerted her, and she turned to look quizzically at him. He was watching the ground slip by with each step they took, a pensive expression on his face.

"Is something wrong, Errico?" Michiko asked.

Errico stopped there in the road and turned to face her, grasping her hands in his. "My dear Michiko, I don't know how to go on from here. I've already made so many mistakes and wasted so much time…now I'm afraid of moving too quickly. I fear telling you what's in my heart, for I know you've been badly hurt and you're surely wary of becoming involved again. If you prefer I stop now, please tell me so." He waited, but she was silent; so he blundered on. "Something is happening here. I feel it in my heart…cliché though it is, I truly do. I find myself reluctant to let this evening end." He sighed deeply and glanced over their heads into the star-spangled sky before returning his gaze to her. "Dearest lady, let me just get right to the point. There is a phrase in my language…and I believe it applies to you, so let me say it now. _E ké'at aurissât."_

"Which is the Arcolosian for…?" prompted Michiko, holding her breath.

"I love you," he told her. "I don't know how you've done it, but you've captured my heart in just one day. You need not respond to me now, dearest—I know I'm moving far too quickly for you." He cleared his throat and glanced away, looking self-conscious. "Come, we should be on our way."

"Wait," Michiko protested. "I have something to say, too." He stopped and eyed her with surprise and hope, and she smiled. "Frankly, I didn't think there was anyone like you left on this planet. But you know, I think you've restored my faith in humankind. For every Russell St. Anthony, there's a Prince Errico. You've done me so much good, and you've given me hope and happiness, and I'd never want to let go of that." She stretched up onto her toes and pressed her lips gently against his. "I've been falling in love with you all evening, and to tell the truth, I don't want this night to end either."

"Dearest Michiko…_cari mie,"_ he murmured, lapsing into his own tongue before kissing her. They stood there at the side of the road, lost in each other, unaware of everything around them. When at last they drew back to stare at each other, neither could move nor speak for a long moment.

"Would you…consent to be my wife? To become Princess Michiko and my future queen?" Errico whispered, as if afraid asking the question would break the spell.

"Oh Errico," she breathed, stunned. She had at one time expected Russell St. Anthony to propose to her, and had given up all hope after he'd thrown her out of his life; to hear the prince ask for her hand now was beyond anything she'd dared to dream of.

"Oh…_Diento mie_, your career," he blurted suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head at himself. "I forgot utterly. Dearest, please accept—"

"Stop apologizing," she interrupted, placing a finger against his lips. "I haven't even answered the question yet. If there's a recording studio in Santi Arcuros, there's no reason I couldn't pursue my career from Arcolos." He gaped at her, his mouth hanging open, and she giggled. "Yes, Errico, I'm accepting your proposal. I'll be very happy to be your wife."

"You have made me the happiest man on this earth," he declared, tracing a finger down one cheek, around her chin and up the other side of her face. "Michiko, _cari mie_, my princess, tomorrow we tell the world—but tonight belongs only to us."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- August 11, 1991

Russell St. Anthony stood in front of Roarke's desk, arms folded over his chest, a belligerent look on his face. "So—I've arrived on time, Roarke. Let's get down to business."

"By all means," said Roarke, gracious as always but very brisk. "Please sit down, Mr. St. Anthony."

"I don't have the time," St. Anthony said. "What I want is just to tell you my fantasy, find out what date to come here, and then get out of here. I'm supposed to perform a dialogue from my current show at this intolerable royal ball, and I have to have the time to prepare myself." He glanced around the room. "Where's your assistant?"

"Attending to one of the current fantasies," Roarke told him.

"Good. Oh, and by the way, what about my getting a mansion?"

Roarke eyed him stonily. "Before I continue, I want the answer to one question. Are you prepared to pay the asking price up front, in full? It's the only way you'll acquire what you want. If so, then I can accommodate you."

St. Anthony stared at him, astonished. "What the hell—?"

"I give you five seconds," Roarke warned expressionlessly.

"Up front? In _full?"_ St. Anthony blurted.

Roarke's gaze never wavered. "Five, four, three—"

"All right, all right, damn you!" St. Anthony snapped, giving in very reluctantly and with extremely ill grace. Yet a grudging admiration glinted out of his pale-blue eyes. "You don't give a millimeter, do you. Yes, all right, I'll pay in full and up front. Now I want to know what I'm getting."

"Very well," said Roarke, and proceeded to tell him what he was buying. St. Anthony nodded after a moment, shrugged and drew a checkbook out of his back pocket, writing out a check for the full amount Roarke named. Then St. Anthony succinctly explained his fantasy to Roarke, who perused his date book, found an open weekend and made the arrangements with the actor. "We will see you on the twenty-fourth."

"Fine," said St. Anthony curtly. "Have my place ready for me." And with that, he got up and walked out. Roarke watched him go, eyes narrowing. St. Anthony's problem was worse than he had realized, if the man couldn't even spare a few seconds for the niceties.

‡ ‡ ‡

Prince Errico's grand engagement gala was to be held in the old opera house midway down the island, and by the time Leslie was able to stop in and see how the preparations were going, setup was more than half completed. She shot a glance at her watch and wondered if she might have time to do a little shopping; there was no question that she'd have to dress up, and she owned nothing suitable except for the long white dress Roarke had given her on her seventeenth birthday, which still fit her. But that was subdued; this occasion called for glamour.

In the corner, Tomai's Catering was setting up tables and putting out dishes and utensils; and sure enough, Maureen was with them. Leslie approached the tables and grinned at her friend. "Stuck working, huh?"

Maureen looked up and grinned back. "Hi, Leslie. I see you're in the same boat. How come you're here by yourself? I'd've thought Mr. Roarke would be here checking up on the preparations with you."

"I'm just supposed to report back," Leslie told her. "He had an appointment this morning with the Beast of Broadway, and I was thankfully elsewhere when that happened. But the fantasies are pretty much set and close to winding up for the weekend anyway, so I finally got a chance to slow down and swing by here."

"The Beast of…" Maureen hesitated, then snickered. "Oh, you mean that insufferable Russell St. Anthony. Yeah, his reputation definitely precedes him." She lowered her voice. "Michiko dropped by yesterday and admitted she'd been involved with him for awhile. I guess he deserves the accolades he gets for his acting, if he managed to completely fool someone as sensible as she is. I'd have expected Myeko to be more of a sucker for a line like that."

"Oh, I doubt that," Leslie bantered. "She's always had eyes only for Toki." They both laughed. "I didn't know Michiko told you. She talked to Mr. Roarke and me Friday afternoon, and she was too ashamed to tell her parents or anyone else in her family. Maybe talking to us made her decide she could confide in someone else."

"In that case, I'm flattered she picked me," said Maureen and casually tilted her wrist to check the time. "Oh wow…I can go now. I got an invitation to this shindig, do you believe it? I found it under my door this morning. Someone must've hand-delivered it, but heck if I can figure out who. So I guess that means I'd better go shopping for a proper dress."

"I need to do the same thing," Leslie admitted. "Want some company? I'll take you—I have to stop in at the main house anyway and let Mr. Roarke know how things are going over here. Looks like everything's progressing right along."

"Sounds good," Maureen agreed and turned, looking for her mother. "Mom? It's time for me to go. I'm leaving with Leslie."

"All right," Mrs. Tomai called, and the two girls departed the building and headed for the main house, brainstorming ideas about what to wear. Roarke looked up as they came in and chuckled when he caught the gist of their discussion.

"You need not worry, Leslie," he said. "I have already arranged for formal evening wear, and it remains only for you to choose the dress you prefer. How are the preparations coming along?"

"Right on schedule," Leslie told him. "The fantasies are doing well and they should be winding up anytime. So it looks like everything's under control."

"Very good," Roarke said. "You'll have time to drop Maureen off in town, but then we must begin getting ready for the ball."

"I still can't believe I got an invitation," Maureen remarked. "I mean, all I am is the caterer, and I was the only employee who got one. I've been trying to figure it out all day."

"Oh, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Leslie said, grinning. "Just enjoy it. Come on, I'll drop you off in Amberville."

A little more than an hour later, after she had returned and Roarke had brought an official end to the weekend's fantasies, Leslie found herself perusing an entire rack full of elegant gowns in Roarke's study. Roarke himself, about to go upstairs and don white tie and tails, paused long enough to regard the many choices she faced and smiled. "Try not to take too long in your decision, Leslie," he advised. "The ball begins at six."

"Well, I see a couple of things that look interesting," she mused and grinned at him. "This ought to be fun, what with a wardrobe person, a makeup artist and a hairdresser just for the occasion. My birthday was three months ago, so it can't be that. Did I need a heavy makeover or something?"

Roarke loosed a hearty laugh. "My dear daughter, surely you realize that I could never get you to change anything if your heart were set against it. I simply thought that, due to the occasion, you might enjoy being pampered this time. And since you, as a woman, would have insisted that attire alone would be insufficient to transform you into a glamorous-enough guest, I thought you would consider it a treat to take advantage of the services of hair and makeup artists. Does that answer your question?"

"Very nicely," Leslie said, grinning and hugging him. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, I really appreciate it. They'll have a better chance of working the required miracle than I ever could have on my own, anyway." Roarke laughed again and retreated upstairs while Leslie went back to studying the assorted gowns.

At fifteen till six, two very elegant persons stepped out onto the porch of the main house and up to the limousine that waited near the fountain. Roarke looked particularly resplendent in a formal tuxedo, its pristine white broken only by a red rose in one buttonhole. The gown Leslie had chosen was emerald green silk embedded with silver threads; the skirt was slit up to the knee and the collar and elbow-length sleeves were lined with shimmering silver lamé. In her ears she wore subdued emerald-studded posts; fortuitously, her birthstone matched her gown.

In the limo, where no one else could hear her, she turned to Roarke and mumbled sheepishly, "I feel like a fraud. Like I'm occupying the body of a glamour girl for one night and she's stuck with mine. _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ or something."

Roarke chuckled. "Perhaps we should host formal parties a little more often," he said teasingly, "to get you more accustomed to dressing up." She made a face; he laughed, and proceeded to gently tease her all the way to the opera house. It had the desired effect; she relaxed and teased him back, and by the time they arrived, she was able to walk in on his arm with a sense of anticipation.

The place was already packed: people were mingling, talking, greeting one another in effusive tones, half hugging, bestowing "air kisses" on one another. For about an hour Roarke and Leslie made a couple of ponderous circuits of the room, stopping to chat with Edmond and Susan Lohmann Dumont at one point. Edmond, the songwriting half of the husband-and-wife team, was a tall handsome man with hair just beginning to gray; his singer wife was nearly as tall as he was and had a dazzling smile that charmed everyone. Though they had already greeted Roarke and Leslie the previous day, they had both been worn out from the long flights and had gone almost directly to the bungalow Roarke had reserved for them. Now they studied Leslie in amazement. "Didn't you grow up gorgeous!" Edmond remarked. (_It's the makeup,_ Leslie thought in spite of herself.) "She's a real beauty, isn't she, Susan?"

Susan nodded agreement and winked one brown eye at Roarke. "Don't flatter her too much, Edmond," she cautioned cheerfully. "If she turns any more red in the face, her head might explode."

They all laughed, even Leslie. Roarke remarked, "She has always been desperately embarrassed by effuse compliments. As I recall, her late husband occasionally paid her an outrageous compliment just to watch her reaction."

Leslie's smile was a little crooked this time. "Teppo spent a lot of time teasing me about how red my face gets. I'm just not used to things like this. You can't imagine how much of a fish out of water I feel like."

"So you think of yourself as just an ordinary type, too," Edmond said, looking delighted. "I've always hated getting decked out like a Christmas tree myself. Of course, Susan thrives on it, so I've learned to tolerate it for her sake. Don't lose that girl-next-door aura, Leslie, dear. There's little enough of it left in this world."

Susan suddenly frowned and leaned to one side, peering over Roarke's shoulder. "Oh no. Edmond, I think I see that awful Russell St. Anthony."

"Well, well. I thought Prince Errico had better taste than that," Edmond muttered, eyeing the actor with great disapproval.

"I didn't realize you knew who was hosting this thing," Leslie said.

"It was necessary for the guests to know," Roarke explained. "With the caliber of celebrity he planned to invite, there was no chance of their accepting without his providing knowledge of his identity. At any rate, we must, of course, extend the same courtesy to Mr. St. Anthony as to any other guest."

She stared at him. "Do we really have to go over there and talk to him?" she demanded. "I'd rather swallow a lemon whole."

Before Roarke could reply, a voice boomed out over the sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand engagement gala of Prince Errico the Fifth of Arcolos. In a little while the prince himself will make the formal announcement; but for now we would like to acknowledge some special guests as soon as everyone finds their seats."

For a few minutes confusion reigned supreme while everyone hunted along tables for their designated places; Roarke seemed to know where he and Leslie were to sit and guided her directly there without so much as glancing around. Curiosity prompted her to check the place cards on either side of their seats; Maureen Tomai's name was printed in elegant script on the one next to her, but she couldn't see the one beside Roarke's place. Just as she was reaching for her chair to pull it out so she could sit down, Roarke did it for her; and she gave him an embarrassed smile of thanks, seating herself quickly. Looking amused, Roarke took his own chair and glanced at the empty seat to his right.

When most of the guests had managed to locate their seats, someone hove into view from Roarke's right, and a voice they had never expected to hear greeted them with an impish chuckle. "Hi, boss and Leslie!"

In precise unison Roarke and Leslie turned sharply in their seats; Leslie gasped aloud and Roarke exclaimed, "Tattoo! What a wonderful surprise to see you here, my friend!" He and Tattoo vigorously shook hands, and Leslie leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"How do you know Prince Errico?" she asked, grinning so hard her face hurt.

"Oh, I get around," Tattoo said mysteriously, taking the seat at Roarke's right. Then he grinned. "Actually, Prince Errico travels a lot. My art gallery's been mentioned in some travel guides, and a couple of years ago he dropped in and bought half a dozen paintings. One of them turned out to be mine, and I guess he liked it. Ever since then he comes in about every three or four months and chooses another of my paintings."

"Excellent, my friend, excellent!" Roarke said warmly. "It's quite plain you are doing extremely well. How are Solange and the children?"

"Everyone's great," Tattoo said. "Patrick's almost seven and Antoinette's five, and we got a little surprise not too long ago. Solange is expecting another baby. The doctor's saying probably January. Poor Solange, she thought she was done with all that."

Roarke and Leslie laughed. "I'm so glad you're here," Leslie burst out. "It's been so long since we've seen you."

"I heard you got around a little bit too," Tattoo remarked, "since you apparently lived in Finland for several years. I'm very sorry about Teppo. You two should have come to Paris and visited us for awhile."

"We wanted to, but money was always tight," Leslie admitted. "And he and his brothers and sisters were having problems with his mother. But that's another story. It's just so great to see you…it feels like the old days again. How long are you staying?"

"Just till Tuesday," Tattoo said with a sigh. "All those exhausting flights to get out here and I can't even stay more than a couple of days. But that's enough time for us to have a good visit and get caught up. Not much has changed around here…except maybe you, Leslie Susan Hamilton." His tone acquired an accusing note. "What happened to you? You were supposed to be my little honorary niece. Now you're all grown up…and worse than that, you're the boss's assistant now. You weren't supposed to change."

Leslie grinned unrepentantly at him; she could see the teasing twinkle in his dark eyes. "Aw, come on, Tattoo, if I didn't change, you couldn't exclaim about how I'm all grown up and reminisce about all the stupid mistakes I made when I first got here."

The three of them burst out laughing, and it was then that the voice boomed out of the sound system again. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you His Highness, Prince Errico V of Arcolos!" Applause welled up; Maureen slipped into the chair beside Leslie just as it did so and blew out her breath with overt relief.

"Finally," she muttered, leaning to Leslie and joining in the clapping. "I thought I'd never find my chair. Hey…oh my God, is that Tattoo sitting there?"

"Yup! Prince Errico apparently loves his artwork," Leslie said happily.

"Wow, that's great!" Maureen murmured. "Gotta find a chance to say hi."

"Thank you, thank you all," Errico's voice echoed across the room then, and they all sat up and directed their attention to him. The applause died out and the room fell mostly silent. "Welcome to my grand engagement gala. Of course you all know the reason for the festivities this evening; but before we commence with the entertainment, I'd like to intro-duce those who will be performing, and also to thank some special people. Firstly, dinner will be served; I shall then make my formal announcement. Then we will be serenaded by several esteemed musicians. In order of their appearance: first, I present Edmond Dumont and Susan Lohmann, who will perform a selection from the maestro's lovely _Rainbow Lake."_

In the midst of the applause, something caught Leslie's eye and she glanced down; there was something glinting beneath her place card. Curious, she reached for it and withdrew a familiar-looking piece of jewelry. Roarke noticed her motion and watched. "What's that, Leslie?"

"It's the rainbow-gem bracelet the prince gave me that night he ate with me at the hotel," she said, eyes wide. She detached a small card from it which bore, in the prince's flourish-riddled handwriting, the following message: _Please accept this one small gift as a token of both my thanks and my apologies. You have been a most gracious and charming hostess, and you have my everlasting gratitude. Yours sincerely, Prince Errico V._

"A very nice gesture," Roarke said, smiling. "It should match your dress."

She had just clipped the bracelet on when Errico continued, "Secondly, we will hear from the very talented Elin Kristel Granath, all the way from Sweden." In response to the summons, the prettiest young woman Leslie had ever seen rose gracefully to her feet and smiled, dipping her head a few times in acknowledgment of the applause. Leslie recalled vaguely that the singer had risen to fame as part of a pop group before breaking away from them and launching a stellar solo career. Errico introduced two more musicians and a very hot rock band; then said, "And last but not least, we shall witness a fine performance by two of the most talented actors of our time. We shall hear a dialogue from the current Broadway play _Bridging the Waters_, performed by the gifted Miss Toni Karlsen and the distinguished Russell St. Anthony." The two personages in question stood up; Toni Karlsen, a well-known Hollywood film actress whose roles had so far run the gamut from comedy to romance to drama, smiled and nodded before resuming her seat. But St. Anthony bowed once and then stood waiting, gazing somewhere into the distance with a haughty look on his face, reminding Leslie of old Roman statues she'd seen photos of. She stopped clapping and made a point of folding her hands in her lap. Roarke and Tattoo both glanced at her, but neither of them commented; Maureen snickered and followed her example.

"Now," Errico said, "before we begin the festivities, I must extend my deepest and most sincere gratitude to the two people who have made all this possible. If it were not for them, none of this would be happening and none of us would be here. My eternal and heartfelt thanks hereby go to the esteemed owner and operator of Fantasy Island, Mr. Roarke, and his assistant and daughter, Miss Leslie Hamilton."

Leslie stared wide-eyed at her adoptive father, who was already rising to his feet. Maureen poked her none too gently in the back, and Tattoo leaned over and said with a big grin, "Come on, Leslie, this is no time for your overblown modesty. Get up!" She shot him a look that promised repercussions and hastily stood up beside Roarke, grinning foolishly at the assemblage and feeling her face turn its usual bright red. Behind her back, Maureen and Tattoo looked at each other and traded grins and thumbs-up signs.

Finally Roarke and Leslie were allowed to resume their seats, and Leslie shot a black look at Maureen. "You'll get yours later," she promised. Maureen just grinned.

Dinner was served then, and for about an hour everyone was busily eating the excellent food and chatting. Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie used the time to get caught up on one another's lives in the past several years, although Leslie skipped over the details of Teppo's death and simply said she was relieved to have had Fantasy Island to come home to. "I just bet," Tattoo agreed, eyes full of sympathy. "Look, Leslie, you don't need to tell me the story—I can tell it still upsets you. But you know, there'll be a day when you can smile at your memories of him more often than you cry. It really will happen, I promise."

Servers began to make their way around the room collecting dishes, and a restless stirring and murmuring gradually arose. "I can't wait to find out who he picked," Leslie said to Maureen, who nodded.

Tattoo overheard and stared at her. "You mean you don't know?"

"Even I don't know, my friend," Roarke admitted with a chuckle. "The prince didn't see fit to let either Leslie or me in on the secret, so it will be as much of a surprise for us as for everyone else here."

The buzzing reached a crescendo when Prince Errico stepped back up to the microphone at the podium; from where Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie sat, he was very near their table, so they had a good view of the nervous expression on his face. He glanced around the room, turned to someone sitting nearby and said something, then stood up and tapped an index finger on the mike. The resulting noise reverberated through the opera house and brought down a hush so sudden and complete that Errico yanked his hand back from the mike and evoked a healthy round of laughter.

"I see everyone is breathlessly anticipating my announcement," he said, recovering nicely and shining a high-wattage grin at his large audience. "In that case, I shall not keep you in suspense. Tonight I formally announce my engagement to a truly lovely lady whom I shall always cherish. I present to you my affianced wife, future queen of Arcolos, soon to become princess: Miss Michiko Tokita!"

Roarke and Tattoo raised surprised eyebrows at each other; Leslie and Maureen stared at Michiko as she stepped up to the dais and joined Errico there. He put an arm around her, and they both grinned foolishly as applause and even some cheering arose from the assemblage. Finally the two friends looked at each other. "Did you even imagine?" Maureen exclaimed.

"I didn't have the slightest clue," Leslie said, still stunned. She took one more look, ascertained that it really was Michiko up there with the prince, and then remembered something ominous. Like a rubbernecker gaping at a car wreck, she searched the crowd till she spotted Russell St. Anthony and was astonished all over again. Though he sat across the room and halfway down from her vantage point, she could not mistake the shocked look on his features; he would have had the same expression had someone hit him over the head with a shovel. She turned to Roarke. "Mr. Roarke, look at Russell St. Anthony," she urged him under her breath. "Would you have expected that reaction from him?"

Roarke found St. Anthony in the crowd and took in the man's poleaxed face, once more raising an eyebrow. "I see your meaning," he murmured. "Perhaps Mr. St. Anthony had more feeling for Michiko than even he may have been aware of."

"If you ask me, it serves him right," Leslie muttered.

"Beware of snap judgments, my daughter," Roarke cautioned gently before sitting back. Leslie frowned slightly, but kept her own counsel from then on. She wondered for the first time that day what had become of Roarke's meeting with the arrogant actor that morning, and couldn't quite decide if she really wanted to know or dreaded finding out.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- August 11, 1991

Most of the rest of the evening passed by fairly quietly, with plenty of entertainment and some dancing as well. During one such occasion, Roarke, with Leslie as his dancing partner, looked around and spotted Errico and Michiko just a couple of feet away. "So I see your fantasy has been fulfilled at last, Your Highness," Roarke spoke up, smiling.

Errico and Michiko looked around; he beamed, and Michiko grinned shyly, turning pink. "Yes, indeed it has, my dear Mr. Roarke, and once again I extend my sincerest and most heartfelt thanks to you. And as well to you, Leslie, for having the exquisite taste to befriend this lovely lady who now possesses my heart."

Leslie laughed. "All in a day's work," she kidded. "Seriously, I'm really happy for you two. And I'll consider it an insult if I don't get to come to the wedding."

"I'm trying to talk Errico into having it here on the island," Michiko said, "but there has to be a ceremony on Arcolos too—you know, to make it official. If we can work it out, then I hope you'll agree to perform the ceremony, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke smiled. "I would be honored," he said. "I wish you both much happiness."

They thanked him; then Michiko's face went slack with disbelief for a moment before shifting into wariness. "What's wrong, _cari mie?"_ Errico asked urgently, while Roarke and Leslie both looked around and spotted the cause of Michiko's distress. Russell St. Anthony was worming his way between dancing couples, clearly headed in their direction.

"I really don't want to talk to him…" Michiko murmured, clinging to Errico. "Can we leave, please, or at least sit down somewhere?"

"He'd catch up," Leslie said, scowling at the actor. "I can't imagine what he wants."

St. Anthony bumped into her seconds later and tried to squirm past her. "Excuse you," Leslie grumbled in his direction. He didn't seem to hear; all his attention was on Michiko, whom Errico gathered into a protective embrace.

"My good sir," Errico said, "pray tell what it is you want from us. You're distressing my fiancée, and I find that very disturbing, I must inform you. State your business and then be on your way."

St. Anthony shot him a dismissive look and focused on Michiko. "I thought you were lying to me about coming back to this island to see your family," he said.

Michiko snapped suddenly to life. "It's _over_—you put an end to it yourself, remember? Just leave me alone, Russell. I don't ever want to see you again."

"Mr. St. Anthony, I suggest you honor the lady's wishes," Roarke put in then, his tone polite but carrying a clear warning. "Otherwise either the prince or I may be forced to take security measures, and that would create a very unpleasant disturbance."

St. Anthony stared around him, for the first time noticing the hostile looks from Errico and Leslie, the unusually furious gleam in Michiko's eyes, and Roarke's cold, stern expression. Finally he flapped a hand in Michiko's direction. "It's not worth it," he snorted and mercifully left them. Michiko blew out a breath and wilted against Errico.

"I think it's time we took a little break from the dancing," Errico decided. "Please do excuse us, Mr. Roarke and Leslie, and thank you for your assistance." They nodded and watched Errico escort Michiko off the floor and back to their table.

Leslie shook her head and turned to Roarke as they resumed dancing. "So did St. Anthony show up on time this morning?"

"Yes, he did," Roarke said. "He does indeed have a fantasy, and what's more, he has managed to get the mansion he demanded earlier this weekend." His gaze grew contemplative and drifted from hers, settling somewhere over her head. "His problem grows more serious every day, much more quickly than I had first realized. Time is of the essence and very rapidly running out."

She stared at him, trying to figure out this cryptic observation, but then the dance ended and he returned to the moment, smiling at her. "I believe it's time for the actors to perform," he said, guiding her back to their table. "Have you ever seen Mr. St. Anthony in character? I am told that, despite all his faults, he is exquisitely talented."

"The jury's still out on that as far as I'm concerned," Leslie said skeptically. "I might not say that normally, but I think he got a real shock when Errico announced his engagement choice. Either he's upset that she went on to a much better choice, or…"

"Or perhaps he truly was in love with her," Roarke broke in, stopping long enough to gently grasp Leslie's chin and turn her head to face him. "As I said before, my child, beware of snap judgments. In two weeks you will learn more."

§ § § -- August 12, 1991

"Have I thanked you enough for all the amazing things you have done?" Prince Errico V of Arcolos asked, stepping out of the car and handing out Michiko. "Granting my fantasy in a most wonderful and unexpected fashion, providing truly stupendous accommodations, the marvelous work on my engagement gala…you are an exceptional host, Mr. Roarke, and I shall highly recommend your island to anyone considering a vacation." Roarke nodded, smiling broadly, bowing slightly in acknowledgement.

"And we'll be back as well," Michiko promised with a grin. "I'll still be recording, just directing my career from Arcolos. But I promise I'll stay in touch with you and the other girls, Leslie. I don't know how you pulled it off, but I'm so glad you introduced Errico and me to each other." She glanced at her prince, eyes shining.

"As am I," Errico agreed and lifted Leslie's hand to kiss it.

Roarke grinned, watching while Leslie smiled and shrugged. "You two are going to be very happy together. I can tell." She hugged Michiko. "All the best—you deserve it."

Michiko squeezed her, then stepped back and grinned impishly. "Do me a favor, Leslie, and tell Maureen I'm the one who secretly delivered her invitation to the gala, will you? She probably tossed and turned all night last night wondering where it came from."

Leslie burst out laughing. "I'll let her know," she said, and at last they all made their farewells. Roarke and Leslie returned the final waves of their departing guests, then looked at each other and out of nowhere breathed huge, perfectly synchronized sighs of relief.

_

* * *

Obviously Russell St. Anthony's story will be coming next! Meantime, I note here that I borrowed two characters, Edmond Dumont and Susan Lohmann, from the episode "Crescendo / Three Feathers" (first story arc), original air date December 20, 1980, which starred Monte Markham and Toni Tennille._


End file.
